Blossomed
by Track4
Summary: This is a story in the future, about Blossom Baker  Julien and Brooke's baby . Please review!


The scent of roses lingers around me.

Laying on the freshly mown grass, eyes closed, listening to the soundtrack of the world around me, I think about my life so far, and the idea of 'roses' strikes me.

My parents knew me all too well; even before I was born they had already named me.

They could tell I'd be too slight for 'Rose' or 'Lavender' and too plain for 'Lily'. They knew I'd be too cautious to be 'Holly' and too complex for something as simple as 'Iris' or 'Violet.'

No, they knew not to give me a name like that. They chose Blossom. Blossom, because they knew that eventually I would.

When I was a child it took me longer to catch on to basic things that it did for other kids. I hardly spoke a word, even at the age of five. I started school, but struggled to make friends.

Even in my first few years at school, I was aware that I wasn't like the other kids. While they picked up the 'ABC' by simply reciting it in a song, I couldn't get the order of the letters right unless writing out the shapes and sounding out the sounds each letter made.

Throughout my life, my name has played the role of a promise. It gave me hope that I would eventually do just as it suggested.

Looking back now, without the struggle that learning posed to me, I wouldn't be where I am today.

Lying here, the sun warming my already olive skin, I feel pride. _You did well Blossom, _I think to myself. 

Looking back at the fifteen year old girl I was, I could never have guessed how my life would've turned out. I scraped through my schooling. With every year going by I felt my teachers giving up on me. I got detentions for not completing homework and a hideous red 'UG' scribbled on the top of all my junior year assignments and exams.

I felt stupid and humiliated. Classrooms were a prison. Even the brightest room felt dark and morbid. Not one teacher I had persisted in trying to teach me. I'd be left in the corner of a class, scribbling notes that made no sense.

With a tutor for every subject, I got an enter score of 76.50. Not once did it cross my mind that I should leave school. I would watch my teachers trying to explain something seemingly difficult, and when occasionally I figured out the same concept later, I knew I could have explained it in a simpler way.

I realised sometime during my senior years, that it wasn't that I was stupid or incompetent, and that I simply had a different learning style, one that wasn't being catered for. None the less, education was important to me, probably because it was so challenging.

I went to Stanford, even if it was harder for me to get a pass than it was for others to get a credit, I was willing to put in my all.

Instead of dating, I spent my evenings with cups of coffee and my lecture notes. Instead of working a part time job I started tutoring my neighbour's thirteen year old twins.

When I finally graduated and got my first teaching job, I spent the night before choosing out an outfit that said something along the lines of passionate-and-fun-but-stern-and-serious. It consisted of a cherry red skirt and a tight black top. I recall taking the decided outfit off the following evening feeling that I hadn't got the message across.

As my first semester as a teacher progressed, I got to know my students better. I'd go home and try to figure out new ways to answer a question. I'd spend hours a week reading through their journals and class work, then writing myself notes about what to revise with them over the coming days.

On the last day of the second term, a quieter and less confident girl, who in many ways resembled my younger self, stayed back after the rest of the class had left. She packed up her belongings with great precision, concentrating hard on making sure each individual stationary item had been put away in its rightful place, as though it was some sort of test. When finally I had packed away I waited at the door for her to leave.

As she approached I thought about telling her how wonderfully she had progressed since the first few weeks of the year. I decided against it so as not to embarrass her. Instead I smiled and wished her a relaxing holiday.

Within weeks of the following term I'd started to notice a change in her. Where before I felt I was losing her, she had begun to answer questions and contribute to class discussions. She would ask me for more help and would stay in at lunch for extra assistance.

On her final day of year nine, she came and found me at lunch. She was holding her report in one hand and smiling. She showed me the page that was her English results. With tears in her eyes, she smiled and hugged me. When she let go she told me how much of a difference the past year of English had made to her, not only as a student but how it impacted her confidence and ability to approach others.

Now, laying here, I realise that if I hadn't have been the sort of student I was, hadn't lacked confidence and hadn't worked so hard, I wouldn't have been able to understand the needs of students like myself.

I wouldn't have lived up to the promise of my name.

Rose I am not, for I have blossomed.

*continue with descriptive language

Violet- Modesty, Faithfulness, Simplicity

Iris- Warmth of affection, Faith, Valor, Wisdom, Inspiration

Describe/explain in more detail why/how a) she struggled at school and b) why/how her style of learning is so different

Articulate more of the inner struggle


End file.
